Duty First
by Morninglight
Summary: Sequel to 'For the Brotherhood's Sake'. Paladin Danse has always put his duty first, even though it breaks his heart.


Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing. Warning for death, violence, fantastic racism, implied drug addiction/use, and grief/mourning.

…

 _Her lips weren't sugar-sweet, not like he'd imagined them. No, the taste was more complex, like some half-imagined flavour from an exotic place. She fit in his arms as he'd known she would though…_

Danse swore as the dream shattered with the sound of reveille. He'd made Sparrow leave before he dishonoured the Brotherhood any further – and cursed himself every waking moment for it. All the Paladin could offer her was a fleeting love before he died in a hail of bullets; Elder Maxson could keep her safe, give her something resembling the life she had before. She had every reason to be angry about Arthur's plans as she hadn't been consulted, but Sparrow was an intelligent, competent woman. Once the heartache lessened, she would understand and rise up to the duty of being an Elder's wife with authority in her own right. If anything happened to Arthur Maxson, she would be the supreme leader of the Brotherhood in the Commonwealth so long as the Lost Hills Elders approved of her. And given their preference for strong, intelligent leaders and healthy genetics, short of Sparrow overseeing some kind of disaster, they would permit it.

He pulled himself out of bed and donned a fresh uniform. Tomorrow he would head for the Glowing Sea and find the scientist Virgil for the secret of the Institute's teleportation. Today was a rest day with officer's rations – Maxson had approved it, no doubt as some sort of compensation for having to be harsh over him and Sparrow.

Danse had never dreamed of hating Maxson before but as the Elder outlined his plans – nothing but the fucking best for the Maxsons! – the Paladin had fantasised about punching his teeth down his throat. And that was why he needed to leave, because the Elder was the Brotherhood's greatest hope, and he'd chosen Sparrow to help him carry that burden.

Proctor Ingram had made improvements to his T-60 armour, including lead lining and the torso that Sparrow gave him. When asked about it by the chief of the Scribes, Danse had said it was a thank you gift from Sparrow and left it at that. The legless, frame-confined Proctor knew better than to ask questions.

Breakfast was Sugar Bomb mash, grilled radroach and baked tatos. Danse ate mechanically, recalling the time Sparrow managed to find him some Salisbury Steak and how she refused when he belatedly offered her a bit. There was a story, one he'd never know now.

He was halfway through breakfast when Elder Maxson appeared, walking over to Danse and taking a seat at his table. Intimidation wasn't Arthur's style, so there had to be another reason for the Elder to be joining him.

"Paladin," he greeted formally as one of the Initiates on mess duty brought over a mug of Nuka Cola and plate of food for the Elder. Aside from a better grade of whiskey than the other officers, Maxson ate as they did, not too proud to hold himself above his people.

"Elder," Danse said in between bites of food, wondering if he could be sent down to the airport earlier than planned with the excuse of testing his power armour mods.

"I just wanted you to know how honoured I am to have a soldier of your conviction and loyalty in my service," Maxson continued before taking a sip of his cola. "I've given orders to Proctor Teagan to outfit you with a superior laser rifle before you head out."

 _Paying me off with a better gun – do you think I'm that fucking simple?_ Danse thought bitterly as he nodded in simulated gratitude. "Thank you, Elder. You honour me."

"No, you honour me." Arthur sounded sincere – had he discovered what happened last night, knowing that while Danse had tasted the forbidden fruit, he'd pushed it away for the good of the Brotherhood? The Elder could forgive a lapse in judgment so long as the mistake was immediately rectified.

A flash of colour caught his eye – Sparrow appeared, took one look at the two men sitting together, and pointedly ignored them to sit at Proctor Ingram's table.

At Arthur's raised eyebrow, Danse chose his answer carefully. "When she stopped off with a thank you gift for me last night, I told her she should leave, and she put several things together, Elder. You _know_ that it's impossible to keep a secret from the woman."

"From _any_ woman, Paladin Danse, from _any_ woman." Arthur ate a chunk of grilled radroach before asking, "How did she take it?"

For a moment, Danse was sorely tempted to repeat Sparrow's exact words, but she didn't need that grief. Instead he said, "She wasn't happy that such a decision had been made without her input. But I'm hoping she'll see the necessity of it."

"I'd hoped to tell her but I suppose you and Cade are as subtle as bricks," the Elder sighed into his coffee mug. "I'll try to court her, as much as I can, Paladin Danse. You needn't think I intend to just use her as a broodmare."

Danse made a vaguely affirmative noise and buried his nose in his food. It was either silence or punching the esteemed Elder in the face. He needed to leave the Prydwen before something regrettable happened.

"I'll report to Proctors Teagan and Ingram and head down a day earlier," he eventually said. "I intend to stock up on some Rad-X and RadAway in Diamond City before I head southwest."

"Understood and permitted," Maxson said magnanimously. "The sooner we have that information, the sooner we can take the fight to the Institute."

"Of course, Elder." Danse offered a curt salute and stood up. When Sparrow glanced in his direction, he offered her a curt nod of farewell before heading to the underdeck for necessary supplies.

His duty to the Brotherhood was going to be the death of him. But he already knew that.

…

Of all the damn people Nick Valentine expected in his office, Paladin Danse of the Brotherhood of Steel was somewhere between Mayor McDonough and the Director of the Institute. The man was incognito, which for him meant reinforced combat armour over military greens with an army beret covering his tousled black hair and patrolman sunglasses hiding his brown eyes. His expression was grim and the synth detective began to suspect the worst.

"What happened to Sparrow?" he asked softly. That was a good woman, one who'd been like a niece to the detective who granted him his memories and formed his personality.

"She's fine. Assigned to the Prydwen," Danse said too quickly. Given that the man was halfway in love with her, Nick suspected some kind of breakup.

"I'm sorry," he said sincerely. "But what brings you to this old bucket of rust and bolts?"

"I'm heading into the Glowing Sea and I need someone who's immune to the radiation," Danse answered flatly. "I don't much _like_ you, but you're good at finding things and talking to people."

"You're not on my Christmas card list yourself, just so you know," Nick observed dryly. "Why you and not Sparrow?"

"Because Elder Maxson has no wish to risk a woman of her good health and relative lack of radiation exposure in the Glowing Sea," the Paladin said tightly. "I have had access to the same information and so I can be spared. She cannot."

"Needs himself a broodmare, does he?" Nick asked shrewdly. "And just what does the grieving Mrs. Finlay think about this?"

"She's not happy. But she's smart and the Elder's intentions are honourable." Danse's voice was flat. "He can give her a better life than I can."

"I don't recall Sparrow Finlay being that shallow," Nick murmured.

"She isn't. But I hope she'll take the opportunity to affect some real change in the Commonwealth." Danse's tone was almost mechanical now. "Look, I need your help, Valentine. I don't know if you're an Institute plant in some sick mind game by those twisted bastards or genuinely escaped and have free will of your own, but you're the only one immune to radiation amongst our colleagues who I can marginally trust. If nothing else, you might be able to get some answers from an Institute scientist yourself."

The detective sighed. Danse had a point and the chance to stick one in the Institute's craw was a tempting prospect. "Fine, but only if we do it my way."

At Danse's raised eyebrow, Nick smiled. "You're obvious in that armour, Danse, and if word gets around a Brother's walking with a synth – you'd be in deep shit."

"I have a spare suit of armour at Sanctuary," Danse said slowly. "It came from a raider."

"Hmm, better. I heard a rumour about the Minutemen being back up there," Nick mused.

"Sparrow and I helped the last of them and they've formed a tentative alliance with the Brotherhood," Danse said quietly. "Preston Garvey is a fine man."

"He is indeed," Nick agreed. "So, you'll wear the unmarked power armour?"

Danse nodded reluctantly, showing that there was some intelligence beneath that military exterior. "I will."

"Then we're off to the Glowing Sea. God have mercy on us all."

…

Preston Garvey greeted the duo with a big smile. "Paladin Danse and the famous Nick Valentine! How can I help you two?"

"I need that armour," Danse told the Minuteman as he looked over the ruins of Sanctuary. "We're off to the Glowing Sea."

"Of course," Preston readily agreed. "How's Sparrow? I hope Maxson wasn't too hard on her."

"She's assigned to the Prydwen for the foreseeable future," Danse said.

"Yes, because Elder Maxson wants a broodmare," Nick added sarcastically. Danse regretted telling the persuasive synth that.

The Minuteman raised an eyebrow. "Arranged marriages aren't unusual but they're usually mutually agreed on by the spouses," he noted. "I take it…?"

"Sparrow's smart. And she'd make a good Elder's wife." If he kept on saying it, maybe he could believe it. He believed in Sparrow's abilities, of course, but he needed to believe it was for the best.

"Mmhm," was all Preston said. "Well, feel free to stay the night. Sturges can mod your power armour for greater radiation protection and tight a few screws on Nick if he needs it."

"I expect the mechanic to buy me dinner before he gets touchy-feely," Nick said dryly.

The leader of the Minutemen snickered. "Sturges is a complete gentleman, I assure you."

"I hope so." Nick tilted his head, eerie yellow eyes focusing on Danse. "You going to be alright?"

"I'll be fine," Danse answered absently, looking around for Codsworth and Cait. He didn't much look forward to any explanations they'd want.

They wound up sleeping in the nearest intact house to the bridge, Preston wanting to avoid awkward questions, and Danse found that Sturges was a genius when it came to tending power armour the next morning. "The Scribes would love to have you," he noted as he moved around in the unmarked, lead-lined suit.

"Thanks, but your Brotherhood sounds like a bag of dicks," Sturges drawled. "You should join the Minutemen. More freedom and less assholes."

Danse refrained from commenting. Sturges had done him a favour.

"Thank you," he said instead, feeling like himself in power armour again.

"No problems. Owed you one, so this job's for free." Sturges smiled and then turned to Nick. "Does a shot of motor oil count as dinner, Mr Valentine?"

The synth grunted as his joints were tightened by the mechanic. "Only if it's premium, Mr Sturges, only if it's premium."

"Aww, I got none," Sturges sighed. "Anything else loose?"

"No," Nick said. "Thanks."

They left as the sun rose, waving farewell to Preston. It would be a long walk to the Glowing Sea and beyond.

But for Sparrow, he could do this. Even if his heart broke in the process.

…

Virgil was a super mutant, one who'd managed to retain his intellect. Nick stopped Danse from automatically shooting the scientist and quizzed him about the Institute. The information produced was… astonishing. And frightening.

"Kill a Courser. Sure, what could go wrong?" Nick asked dryly.

"Plenty, but it's your only way," the green-skinned scientist retorted. "Get me the courser code and I should be able to make some plans. Of course, once you're in the Institute, you'll probably die."

"Make the plans," Danse snapped. "We'll take care of the Courser."

Coursers were built for one purpose – killing.

But so was Paladin Danse.

Nick focused on getting the girl – the synth – trapped behind the door as the two fought. The Courser was fast, merciless and made ample use of Stealth Boys while Paladin Danse did things in power armour that most men weren't flexible enough to do not wearing some. When the settlers in Sanctuary told Nick about the fight with the deathclaw, the synth detective had been certain they exaggerated Danse's prowess.

The old synth was never afraid to admit he was wrong, especially when Paladin Danse literally tore the Courser's head off after breaking its spine. That would make for a hell of a present for Virgil. Maybe he could give the skull as a gift for Elder Maxson at his wedding.

Jenny ran away once freed, no doubt looking for the Railroad. Hopefully Dr Amari could decode the Courser's chip and bring Sparrow one step closer to finding her son. Assuming Maxson let her keep the boy.

"Remind me to stay on your good side," Nick said dryly as Danse tore the chip out of the Courser's head by the simple expedient of pulling it through an eye socket.

"If you need reminding, I'm doing my job wrong," the Paladin shot back. "So now what?"

"We go to Dr Amari again. Hopefully this session will be less traumatic." Nick turned for the door, ignoring the executed Gunners. "You going to tell the Brotherhood about the goodies here?"

"I have another mission to focus on," Danse said tightly as he dropped the head and put the chip in a special little compartment of his armour. "Valentine?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you for your help. I don't think I could have done it without you."

Valentine found himself giving the Paladin a tight smile. "You're welcome, Danse. Give Sparrow my regards?"

"If I'm permitted to, I will," Danse said bleakly before heading for the powered-up elevator.

Nick watched him leave, feeling for the poor bastard. The next time he saw Sparrow, he was going to have some words with her, because Danse was too good a man to let go.

…

Danse returned from the Glowing Sea with rough-drawn plans and a promise to try and find Virgil's cure. He knew that when Sparrow made it into the Institute, she'd look for the serum, and he owed the scientist that much. After travelling with Nick Valentine for two weeks and trading acidic barbs, he began to believe that the synth was free of Institute tampering… and understand why the Scribe trusted him so much.

Proctor Ingram looked over the plans and whistled. "Damn, that classical station is their relay signal?"

"It is, Proctor," Danse confirmed. He'd picked up his usual armour at Hangman's Alley and it felt like a burden for the first time in his life.

"Well, Sparrow and I can get to building this while you take a well-deserved break," the Proctor said with a smile.

"Thank you," Danse said politely, wondering if he should transfer back to Cambridge because he wasn't sure he could cope with seeing Maxson court the Vault Dweller. Then he recalled that he had critical information – especially about his promise to Virgil – that she needed to know.

Ingram dismissed him and Danse headed for his quarters. Why did his feet drag with every step when this was his home, his vocation?

He literally ran into Sparrow just outside his quarters. The Scribe staggered back and dropped a clipboard with schematics on the ground as Danse blinked, trying to make sense of the woman before him.

Gone was the simple bun at the nape of the neck, a more elaborate upswept style with bangs like Dr Amari's framed her face while black outlined her brown eyes and blood-red coloured her lips.

"Paladin. I see your mission was a success." Her words were cool and formal, a long way from the flashes of humour, temper and affection that warmed her speech once.

"Yes," he responded, trying and failing to reach the same level of coolness. He'd told her to leave for her sake and that of the Brotherhood. Elder Maxson would be better for her. Right?

The lips pursed and for a moment he saw the fragile, vulnerable soul that he knew so well. "Thank you," she said softly.

 _Leave with me and to hell with the Brotherhood._

"You're welcome, Scribe," he said before walking past.

Duty first. As always.


End file.
